sometimes to stay alive you got to lose your mind
by thefrostedrose
Summary: In a decrepit house on a stormy island, a little girl with a tempest for a brain breaks her toys instead of playing with them. (the exposition and consequent denouement of catherine goode). /Rated T for abuse, violence, depression, blood, etc., etc./


_**I hate doing these author's notes - but basically this fic has been in production for nearly a year, and it's finally finished and I'm immensely proud, so yeah. It will probably be the last GG fic I write for awhile - I need a break from the Gallagher Girls universe, I think. I hope everyone enjoys it, and make sure to tell me what you think!**_

* * *

Yes, her upbringing was pretty fucked up, in case you were wondering.

* * *

Her family moves from nearby Charleston to what had been their vacation house when she is three. Her mother spends a few weeks attempting to fix it up to its former glory, but eventually gives up and decides that all she really needs is a chair on the porch where she can drink her Scotch in peace.

So yeah, it's basically a dilapidated craphole of a house that has definitely seen better days. It's been in the family for generations, since 17 - whatever. Back then, the Goodes were wealthy Southern socialites, rabid about the Confederacy and Catherine can see out her window where the slave quarters once stood.

The family had moved to the safety of Charleston during the Civil War, and had rarely used the massive plantation since, which make sense since it's totally isolated, about to fall apart, and stuck on a godforsaken island with too many storms. But apparently Charleston was no longer an option, because her father and embezzlement or some other white collar crime.

Catherine liked her life in Charleston, but she had always had a rich imagination, so the idea of living in a fairy-tale like mansion on a deserted island was somewhat appealing. She spends most of her days running around the island by herself, playing pirates and princesses and knights and mermaids and soldiers. Really, she plays so many roles that she could have been an actress; but there's nothing else to do, so she makes the best of it.

And it's not like her parents really care where she is, anyway. Her mother is a fading society treasure, never seen without an expensive cigarette and a glass of wine. She's all harsh words with brittle smiles, and her nails dig into Catherine's head whenever she attempts to be comforting.

And her father - well, her father, for lack of a better word, is a complete and utter asshole. He settles for basically ignoring her; cold, dead eyes and an even icier countenance. Whenever she does something wrong in his eyes (and she never understands what), it's hard hands on her shoulders, face right up in front of hers and venom in his tone that is enough to make her cringe.

So she has a shit home life, and she also has the misfortune of having a shit time in school. She's a smart kid, gets exceptional grades and is naturally leagues ahead of her peers, but her teachers don't really know how to deal with it. They treat her as if she has the mind of a child. Her classmates view her as a freak, ignore her and mock her at every cost.

(_It's not like she has much in common with them anyway, or wishes to associate with them. But still, friends would be nice_).

And their parents know who her parents are, know who she is, so they keep their children far, far away.

She lets herself get wrapped up in her own little world, on her own stormy island and tyrannical parents and the lowly commoners of her school. But she is scared, and she is angry.

(_Angry at herself, actually. Angry and frustrated and what is so wrong with her that her parents treat her this way, that her peers ostracize her?_)

* * *

Catherine has her first taste of violence when she is eleven years old. Janie Williams, blonde and tall and popular, ends up sitting behind her. Janie teases her during class, pulls her hair and trips her when she tries to sit down. The whole class laughs at her, and Catherine's face flushes red with embarrassment, her fists clenching in barely concealed rage.

So one day after school, while waiting for her mother to pick her up (a few hours after every other student has left, if her mother remembers at all; and her teachers still don't trust her to take the boat home herself), she approaches Janie's favorite swing, shimmies up the supports, and carefully loosens the screws.

* * *

And the next morning, at recess, Catherine barely contains her smile when she hears a scream and a loud snap.

Janie doesn't die, but she does break her back, which is satisfaction enough for Catherine. Their class goes to visit her in the hospital, and Janie's in a full body cast, blubbering like an idiot. Catherine waits until the rest of the class has exited the room to go back to the bus to lean over Janie.

Janie's eyes are wide and angry, and Catherine leans in closer, so _poor little Janie _doesn't have to strain herself, and she whispers "Look who's the freak now"

When she gets home, her dad's hand locks around her shoulder, and he leans down to look in her eyes. Catherine swallows hard, but urges herself to remain strong.

"Did you hurt Janie?" His eyes narrows.

"No." She says under her breath, honestly, because she didn't actually hurt Janie at all.

Her father does not believe her evidently, because he throws her into the wall hard enough to make her worry that she'll end up in the bed next to Janie. He storms downstairs, leaving Catherine to stare helplessly at the ceiling with an aching back.

Her mother comes upstairs an hour later, heels clicking dangerously against the floor.

"What'd you do this time?" Her mother hisses, taking a drag of her cigarette as Catherine rises to her feet.

"He thinks I hurt Janie, but I didn't." She bites, and her mother just backhands her hard enough across the face to send her tumbling to the floor again (Catherine's a small girl, all skin and bones and she can feel the bruises forming already).

"Filthy liar." Her mother spits as Catherine looks up at her with angry eyes, cradling her cheek. She tries to hurl her glass of expensive whiskey at her, but fortunately her drunken aim is awful, and instead of hitting Catherine in the temple, it explodes at her feet, cutting her hands. "You're more trouble than you're worth, you know that, Catherine?"

Catherine shuts her eyes in silence and waits for her mother to leave before crying.

* * *

Gallagher comes for her a year later. She peers between the banisters, aching to hear the words of the smartly dressed woman speaking to her parents downstairs.

"Can she stay all year long?" Her mother laughs lowly in her trademark gravelly voice.

"We can certainly make some...arrangements." The woman replies slowly, and Catherine presses her ear to the floor in order to hear better.

"And you say there is no tuition?" Her father asks incredulously.

"Your daughter is very smart, Mr. Goode." The woman states, seemingly surprised that her parents are ignorant to her level of intelligence.

"Then I don't see a problem."

Basically her parents are passing her off to a perfect stranger, and Catherine has never been happier.

* * *

"We know what you did to Jeanie." The headmistress doesn't even look up from her paperwork, and Catherine blinks because she literally just found out this was a school for spies and this woman is bringing up _Jeanie fucking Williams_?

"While your...motive was a tad concerning," The woman continues. "We find your skill set valuable. Here, you will learn how to you these skills for the betterment of our country and our world, and not for selfish means. Are we clear, Ms. Goode?"

Catherine waits for the headmistress to break eye contact before she answers.

"Absolutely, ma'am."

* * *

Now, when Catherine went to Gallagher, she expected to find girls exactly like her; strong, smart girls with killer instincts. And they are strong, and smart - but they aren't _predators _like her.

She thought she would find girls like her at Gallagher, but of course she did not. She is not particularly surprised (_no one _is quite like her) but a tiny part of her is disappointed. The girls whisper behind her back, her supposed _sisters _avoid her like the plague.

But she's good at her classes - she likes them and they're challenging for _once, _and the greatest thing is that the mansion offers limitless adventure, and Catherine is anything if not curious.

And she only has to go home for the summer, which is wonderful.

She spends her summers training, because she is at the bottom of her class in P&E, 100 pounds soaking wet and gangly bones, and Catherine will not suffer being seen as a weakling (she has this unexplainable feeling to _defend _herself).

She eventually gets moved up into the senior level class, but she doesn't particularly understand her own strength until in her next bout with Emily Walters - well she overheard Emily talking to Rachel Cameron about theories on her upbringing (nasty, vile rumors that aren't actually far from the truth) - and when she's paired with Emily, she snaps the girl's collarbone in half; there's blood everywhere and the bone is jutting out of the skin and Emily is _screaming _and -

And needless to say, Catherine has to train by herself from then on.

* * *

It is also after that when the staff of Gallagher Academy stop treating her like a precious, misunderstood baby bird that needed to be saved and instead of what she really is, a weapon in flesh and blood.

It makes her angry more than anything (and actually very sad, but she refuses to talk about that) because _they literally brought her here because she tried to kill a classmate _and honestly, what did they expect?

So Catherine learns to just _fuck it. _Fuck her parents, fuck her 'sisters' and fuck Gallagher. She wears black and shoes that part hallways for her, smokes expensive cigarettes and sneaks out to parties in Roseville. She snaps at her teaches and skips her classes, and smirks with contempt when she still maintains straight A's.

Her parents notice the change in her too with distaste. They don't stop their abuse but she learns to block it out, takes comfort in knowing that she can overcome them if need be, until -

Well, she comes home from town too late one night, and ends up fighting with her father, and he's _screaming _at her, booze hot on his breath, she snaps back with a smart comment, and when he lunges at her, she isn't even thinking as she ducks under him before twisting and shoving him over the railing. His head makes a sickening splat against the marble floor, and she's shaking but relieved.

And it's after that lovely incident that the Circle of Cavan gets in touch with her.

* * *

Her mother dies halfway through her senior year, a dangerous cocktail of Xanax, tequila, and cocaine.

After she graduates from Gallagher, she really just wants to run off to the Circle and start her life right away but she ends up going back to Charleston for the summer to deal with that wretched house and her parents' belongings.

And in a run down bar, she sees Janie Williams. She's headed to the University of Georgia in the fall, and she's just as blonde and tan as ever. Janie doesn't recognize her, which is good. Catherine doesn't need her to.

It's all too easy to keep slipping Janie drinks until she's laughing and stumbling, and she's all too eager to follow Catherine out of the bar, to an alley a few blocks away.

She presses a kiss to her lips before she slices her throat.

Janie Williams is the first person Catherine truly kills.

* * *

Catherine loves being part of the Circle of Cavan. Truly, she finds being part of an international terrorist organization quite gratifying. She takes to it easily, and it draws attention to her. She's spotted out as an object of _greatness _early, and Catherine's not surprised - she excels at anything she puts her mind to.

She finds it amusing that they're not more Gallagher girls in the Circle (or girls in general, really), but she doesn't mind - she attracts all the attention wherever she goes, like she always does.

However, such a bureaucracy starts to wear on her. Her bosses are every bit as insufferable as her teachers and classmates at Gallagher were. The Circle calls for controlled chaos but Catherine is an exploding galaxy of energy, chaos personified, and -

No, this will not do.

* * *

She meets Joe Solomon in St. Barths after being with the Circle for six months.

He's naive, yet wind beaten and world - worn which makes for an incredibly odd combination. He follows her around a bit like a lost puppy, which she finds hilarious.

Joe is the exact opposite of her (and the only one who doesn't stare at her like they're ready to ravage her against a wall), and no matter what she does, what atrocities she commits, he still believes in her. His eyes still light up when he sees her.

A long time later, she realizes Joe was the best friend she ever had.

* * *

When she first meets Edward Townsend, she plans on eating him alive.

She knows he's been told to stay far away from girls like her, and Edward is used to carrying girls' books to class, opening doors for them but she is steel bones, unwieldy in the earnest.

Everyone knows that he's actually MI6, because he's a shit liar for a spy, so Catherine decides to have a little fun with him while he's undercover with the Circle.

All it takes is a flick of her hair over her shoulder, her hand brushing against his, her voice low in his ear and he's in love with her.

His love for her scares her. He whispers affectionate words in her ear, his hands move softly over her skin, tentatively exploring, his lips are too gentle and she is most definitely not used to this.

She breaks him like she breaks all the others. (_She did always have a nasty habit of breaking her toys when she was young)_

He eventually realizes he's just been a pawn in the Circle, that he's been almost like their _entertainment_, and most importantly that everything she's ever told him were daggers disguised as sweet nothings.

His hands leave bruises over her skin now, he bites her so hard she bleeds and it's _this_ she wants. Honestly, he is twenty times more attractive in her mind now that he hates her.

Eventually he leaves the Circle, bitter and destroyed and hell bent on revenge, and basically she doesn't plan on seeing him again. She's finished playing with him - his interest has worn off and she's ready to move on to her next victim.

And then she finds out she's pregnant.

Funny, how karma's a bitch that way.

* * *

In case you didn't know, Catherine hates children.

Well, she pretty much hates everyone but never once in her life did she want a tiny, screaming, shitting, _thing _to take care of for the rest of her life.

Really, it's all the Circle's fault. And Joe fucking Solomon's.

The Circle loves the whole legacy thing, and they figure that the child of two amazing spies would be like, the Savior's second coming (because Edward actually is a talented spy, though it pains her to admit it). But _fuck that shit_, a bunch of crusty old men will not tell her what she can do with her body, and she's practically sprinting to the nearest Planned Parenthood to get this _spawn of Edward Townsend_ out of her as quickly as possible.

But then Joe stops her, eyes big and sad, and somehow convinces her to keep it. (Really, he could convince her of anything)

Honestly, fuck Joe Solomon.

* * *

She names her son Zachary - _God has remembered. _She finds it incredibly ironic (if there is a God, he has never given a flying fuck about her).

When she holds him for the first time, after he finally stops crying, he looks up at her with big dark eyes, yawns a cute little yawn, and she's torn between vomiting and smiling, because she has this oddly territorial feeling in her chest, because this little human is _hers. _

She wonders if this is love.

* * *

Zach stares at her like she's the best thing that's ever happened to him, and now that she thinks about it, _she kind of is_.

The idea of morphing another being into the exact image she wants is so exciting.

But being a mother is fucking _hard - _getting up at three in the morning is hard, figuring out how to cook dinosaur chicken nuggets right is hard, and learning how to navigate the house without stepping on a mess of Legos is most definitely hard.

Zach is a good kid though, so her plan to mold him into her image blows up in her face. He's more like Joe than anything, actually. She never should have let Joe near Zach, because Joe is great with kids, so naturally Zach adores him and Joe adores Zach.

Later on, she will finally figure out where it all went wrong - she gave him toys, took him everywhere, helped him with homework, even went to his stupid school plays (which in one he played the First Christmas Lobster), but the emotional attachment wasn't there. She is not nurturing enough, or kind enough.

She is not a good mother.

No one is surprised.

* * *

Plotting the downfall of the Circle and her subsequent rise to power is a lot of work, but Catherine is anything if not thorough. She spends hours pouring over old documents until her eyes ache and her fingers are stained black with old ink.

Everything always leads back to Ioseph Cavan himself, and his death at the hands of Gillian Gallagher. Funny, how Gallagher still tries to block her endeavors even now.

In fact, her research has her thinking about Gallagher more and more.

She could suffer through her parents' abuse surely; she didn't know any different. But when that big black car was rolling up the long driveway and the beautiful mansion came into view, for the first time she allowed herself to _hope_. And what did she get in turn? Hatred, ignorance, shame. The family she had so readily expected and opened up for turned its back on her so easily.

Her parents, she could understand - but her _sisters? _

(_This is what she got for opening up in the first place, _she thinks. _This is what hope, and love brings)_

No, the betrayal was earth shattering to her, cementing her belief that _love, camaraderie, friendship _is weakness and _the only person you can trust is yourself. _

Gallagher made her what she is; perhaps there was hope for her once, but it was destroyed the moment she walked through those ivy covered walls.

Gallagher _destroyed _her.

When she was young, and her parents less erratic, her mother would sometimes sing to her through the awful thunderstorms that always raged outside. It was a song about kings and castles and knights and princesses. She sometime still catches herself humming it.

But life is not like a song. She's learned that much. However, _this _song is different - this song is about power and vengeance and really _how fitting that this is the song that she remembers from her youth. _

And so, in true fairytale fashion, she decides to burn Gallagher to the ground.

* * *

(Now, she's sure you could analyze the hell out of it and look for some metaphorical meaning, but really she just likes to make things go _boom_).

So while her plan to take over the Circle is definitely still relevant, she is determined to make her conflagration of Gallagher her magnum opus.

Really, it has the potential to turn into a fantastic win-win situation.

* * *

Joe eventually leaves, but she expected that. He was too good for this world of hers - her darkness could not stifle his light. And perhaps she acts out against him not because she hates him, but because she knew this was completely inevitable - that without Joe, there would be no one on her side.

(_It's not like they were friends_, she thinks. _It's not like she cared about him, or god forbid, loved him. It's not like he was the best thing to ever happen to her, the only person who ever maybe cared about her. It's not like he practically abandoned her with a young son, dangerous enemies, and her demonic mind. No, it's not like that at all_).

So she doesn't understand why when she wakes up in the morning, tears stain her pillow and black mascara is streaked all over her face.

* * *

Joe leaves, and she wishes she could follow.

* * *

She isn't well acquainted with Matthew Morgan.

She _knows _of him, of course; knows that he's friends with Joe and married to Rachel. And most importantly, she knows that _he _knows where the list of Cavan's descendants is, and that's all that matters. Now, she has brought others in on her plan to take over, but she doesn't trust any of them (_anyone at all, really_), and none of them know the _entire _plan, but it works well enough.

It becomes quickly apparent, in a small cottage in the Italian Alps, that he isn't going to give away any information. Now, she suspected this all along, because Matthew Morgan isn't _stupid_, but she keeps him alive because he's a surprisingly good conversationalist for someone who's, you know, half dead.

He's covered in dry blood, a skeleton of a man, bones sticking out at awkward angles and face swollen.

"You won't succeed, Catherine." He pants, and she rolls her eyes, lets out a long sigh.

"Is there a point to telling me this?" She drawls, running her fingers on the wooden walls.

"Just trying to make conversation." Matt hums with a smile, and Catherine has to give him credit for being so chipper when he's dying. "If I can't stop you, Joe will."

"Joe will?" Catherine laughs slightly. "We'll see."

"You know, I never knew what Joe saw in you." Matt meets her eyes, _challenging _her, and Catherine feels like she wants to vomit.

She snaps his neck with her bare hands.

* * *

Catherine by no means gets off on violence for violence's sake. Violence, however, came with the job and was an efficient means to an end.

But torturing people - she almost looks forward to the emotional aspect of it. She's gotten good at it, too. She gets better at keeping people alive for longer. Perhaps it's because she needs someone to feel the pain she's felt for her entire life, needs some sort of _connection. _

Her violent proclivities get worse after Joe leaves; her hands seem permanently stained in blood, yet she still feels _nothing. _

* * *

Her plans progress nicely in the next few months. Zach goes to Blackthorne, Matthew Morgan is six feet under, and she only thinks about Joe twice a day - it feels like she can almost _breathe _again.

Until -

Edward Townsend tries to kill her.

He corners her in an empty hotel hallway in Mumbai, a knife to her throat and a hand wrapped so hard around her forearm that she's half worried that he'll break the bone.

She finds it impossibly hot. Something about Edward Townsend trying to murder her, standing so close that she can see the greys and blues in his eyes swirling together in a storm, turns her on (insert a crack about her messed up priorities here).

She lets out a long breath, too calm for someone so close to the precipice.

His hands are shaking when he pulls away the knife, and for a moment his forehead rests against hers, inhaling and exhaling with her.

_He still loves me_, she thinks as she watches him walk away. _He always will - I've changed him too much_.

* * *

She doesn't tell Edward about Zach.

She's not an idiot.

* * *

(Sometimes, in the depths of night when the monstrous thoughts come out, and the rain pounds down, she thinks that maybe she should have told Edward to kill her.

The urge to end this suffering and pain is so great - there is no escape from the dark recesses of her mind, she can never stop _thinking and _-

No, not yet.

There is still work to be done).

* * *

Joe has aligned himself with the Cameron sisters, and it hurts a little more than she thought it would.

She doesn't know why.

When he comes back to her, something's changed in him. She has a vile tendency to _change _people, and never for the better.

When he comes back to her, his eyes are dead and his jaw is tight, his body tense and he's just rippling in barely concealed rage.

And when they fuck, he makes her _bleed_, his hands leave bruises all over her, his hands and mouth are so rough that she thinks he's trying to rip her apart.

(And maybe he is).

But this leaves her feeling conflicted; she has longed for Joe to fuck her like this for _a g e s_, but it leaves an empty feeling in her stomach, like somehow this isn't enough.

She wants him to peel back her skin and let black blood to pour out of her veins, pull apart steely ribs and rip out her clockwork heart, listen to the cogs and gears whir as they struggle to keep the dusty, shriveled remains pumping underneath.

She doesn't know if she wants him to rip it out of its cage and _crush _it between his fingers, letting the dust fly away, or just keep it out for good, so she never has to feel again.

Instead, he does this -

He keeps her heart in his hand just to simply _stare _at it, and his hard gaze is enough to make it beat faster and faster, making her go into cardiac arrest.

His fingers dig into the blackened flesh of it, squeezes it so she can feel the constriction in her chest and she's gasping for air.

And he shoves it back in, smirking at her pain. She begs him to take it from her but he doesn't listen.

What a cruel bastard.

* * *

It takes him longer to confront her than she thought it would.

"Did you kill him?" He whispers, breath hot on her ear. One hand is hard on her hips, pinning her to the wall and the other is wrapped lightly around her throat.

"You already know." She murmurs, unable to meet his gaze.

"I know, but I want to hear you say it." He challenges. His hand tightens around her throat, and she swears that he can feel her pulse skyrocket erratically under his fingers. Her chest is soon heaving from the lack of adequate oxygen, yet she is uncertain if that, too, is the reason she's seeing stars.

"_Yes, I killed him_." She gasps desperately. His hand squeezes harder around her throat the words, and she can practically feel his fingers leaving bruises.

He slowly releases his grip on her, and her knees almost buckle at the sudden rush of oxygen.

"_Fuck, _Catherine." He exhales, the words brushing over her lips.

"...I'm sorry." She murmurs, not because she really is but more because she's desperately trying to bring Joe back to her.

"Don't lie." He scoffs coldly, and she bristles in agitation.

"I did what I had to do, Joe." It lacks her usual conviction, however.

"You always do, Catherine." He smiles sadly, stepping away from her. "I'll never be able to trust you again."

She waits for him to leave to whisper, "_Could you ever_?"

* * *

The more time she spends pouring over the details of Matthew Morgan and his Gallagher connection, the more it becomes apparent that Cammie Morgan is the key to her plans.

Cammie is a fairly average girl; average height, average weight. Pretty, but not particularly eye-catching. This makes her dangerous - No doubt she has the ability to blend in very well.

Now, Cammie has no idea what she's hiding in her pretty little head, which is good. Catherine will help her remember.

However, her superiors are after Cammie as well - and now, the hunt was afoot.

She could have quietly taken Cammie from a deserted street, but that isn't quite her style, in case you haven't noticed. Subtlety does not suit her. Taking Cammie from the roof of the Democratic National Convention is brilliant, in her opinion. It can easily be arranged for her, the McHenry girl, and the Winters boy to be there. Three for one; it's a great plan.

Unfortunately, she forgot the ingenuity of Gallagher Girls. They are much too frenzied to grab easily, and her leftenant gets punched in the face by Preston fucking Winters, the most hilarious part of a spectacular failure of an operation.

She gets so angry on the helicopter back to base that she kills her partner, but her hands are still shaking afterwards.

* * *

Wearing the ring isn't a clumsy mistake, for Catherine doesn't make mistakes - everything is perfectly purposeful.

She wears it for Joe.

_I'm coming. _

* * *

"What do you want with Cammie Morgan?" Zach storms into her office at the base in Beijing. Workers stare in concern through the glass doors, but she urges them away with an annoyed flick of the wrist.

Of course Zach knows Cammie. Of fucking course.

_He loves her, _she thinks as she turns the page of the report she's reading. _How cliché. _

"Look at me!" He orders, tearing the papers out of her hands. As she stands, masking the growing annoyance on her face, Zach takes a nervous step back.

She smirks. It's good to know she can still instill fear in her son.

"Of all the people to develop a pathetic crush on, you choose Cameron Morgan. How inconvenient for you." She sighs.

She watches Zach bubble in rage and the urge to roll her eyes is too great.

She sighs. "Get out of my office, Zach."

He storms out in a typical, angsty teenage huff.

Honestly, fucking teenagers.

* * *

The capture of Cammie Morgan in Washington is a spectacular failure as well. She really should have gone herself - Good help is so hard to find these days.

Abigail Cameron is shot, but she could really give a rat's ass about Abigail Cameron.

"Your son was there." A whimpering worker bee mutters as she shatters his kneecap in agitation.

And suddenly she's so angry, her entire body is shaking, and she strangles the poor man in frustration.

She always knew that Zach was not terrorist material, but now the lines were clear - he chose his side, and she chose hers.

So be it. He would not be exempt from the hell she rained upon them. He is no longer her son - he is _collateral. _

_He chose his side, _she reminds herself.

_He chose his side._

* * *

The summer is spent regrouping, a new plan being formulated. Getting directly to Cammie was no longer an efficient option, since everyone knows that she's after Cammie, and not Macey McHenry.

But everyone knows Matthew Morgan kept a log. All operatives did. Perhaps he wrote something..._useful_.

It was time to get Joe Solomon.

* * *

Joe was always a liability. It was finally time to determine if he would be her Austerlitz or her Waterloo.

She isn't the one who leaks Joe's involvement with the Circle. Catching Joe without competing with the CIA for him would be so much more convenient.

Breaking him out of CIA custody would not be _hard_, per se, but like she said - _inconvenient._

The fucking martyr he is, he throws himself off of Tower Bridge and disappears into a puff of smoke.

The manhunt for Joe Solomon has begun.

* * *

They find him in Rio.

She goes to retrieve him herself.

In a dark bar with a view of the beach and in the shadow of Christ the Redeemer, she slides onto the stool across from him.

"You know better than to make a scene." She says lowly once her tequila comes.

"Of course." He smiles, teeth blinding and she can see her reflection in his sunglasses.

When he studies her, she stares into her drink and reminds herself that the pesky organ under her ribs and between her lungs was destroyed long ago.

"So this is how it's going to be?" Joe finally says, taking off his sunglasses and rubbing his tired eyes.

She shrugs. "It's been like this since the moment you left us."

His hand folds over hers, fingers playing with the ring on her left hand.

"I loved you, Catherine." He whispers, his other hand moving up her throat to cup her jaw and she _shudders_.

There's a van and over forty men stationed in the surrounding area to take him in, but he takes the time to kiss her in the doorframe of that shabby bar.

She hates how her arms instinctively move around his neck. His hand brushes her hair out of her face, and she gasps a little against his lips, warmth flooding through her at the sensation of his fingers on her skin.

The kiss scares her because it tastes so much like finality.

One sharp chop to his pressure point and he crumbles to the ground, unconscious.

* * *

Joe Solomon escapes custody.

She is by no means shocked.

* * *

She recaptures him _herself _on route from a CIA facility in Virginia to Tennessee. Eighteen Agency employees die, but she only loses two of her men. The night is hot and muggy, the air oppressive and stars seem too bright in the sky.

He doesn't put up a fight.

She doesn't think about that too much.

* * *

"You know, we can keep this up for a very, very long time." It's the first thing she says when she goes to see him. They've installed him in an underground facility in Blackthorne, hidden among the towering pines of the Adirondacks. He looks horrendous, but that's the only way she likes him anymore.

"Catherine, you know you'll never get anything out of me." He has the gall to smirk, and suddenly the whole scenario seems very reminiscent of a little cabin in the Italian Alps, and another man who was simply waiting to die.

She punches him, _hard_, but he doesn't even attempt to fight back and it _infuriates _her. She punches and hits again and again and again and _she is literally beating him to death and he isn't doing _anything and -

When her knuckles are covered with his blood, the muscles in her arms on fire, she leans so close to him that she can see the sweat mixing with blood and trickling into his eyes.

"_You were my friend, you fucking _tool." She seethes through her teeth, and he lets out a long, shaky sigh. "_How could you_?" The '_leave me here to rot' _goes left unsaid.

"Is this what this is really about?" He exhales, eyes flicking up to meet hers.

When she punches him this time, she knocks him out.

* * *

Near midnight on the first day of June, her plans are temporarily thwarted.

By her son and Cameron Ann Morgan, nevertheless. In hindsight, torturing Joe Solomon in a dramatic, abandoned assassin training tunnel was probably too obvious (but Catherine is a great fan of dramatics, so sue her).

She can't explain why she saved Zach that day - all rationality points to the fact that she should have let him die.

(_He is no longer useful - in fact, he is a massive liability on every level, and yet -_

_She saves him. Interesting.)_

Joe escapes, but she wasn't going to get anything out of him anyway. Apparently he's in a coma, and she swells with some sort of sick pride.

And Cammie -

Cammie was the main goal of this operation to begin with, until capturing her became particularly unwieldy. But now - Cammie is just out of reach, spray plastering her hair all over her pretty face and there is a nice, kind of comforting fear in the poor girl's eyes.

She slips through her fingers, flies away like the little bird she is.

How inconvenient.

* * *

And for about three weeks, Catherine is frustrated because now she has no leads, no detainees, and no idea what will happen in the future.

But then Cammie Morgan decides to go on the run.

The little girl is not as smart as Catherine thought she was.

* * *

They detain Cammie Morgan outside Vienna.

Realistically, they probably should transport her to a mountain top base in the Urals, but Catherine demands they take the teenager to the shack in the Italian Alps, because the symbolism is just too great to ignore.

The girl's screams are _hideous. _

It gives her a headache whenever she tries to sleep, and she has to restrain herself from cutting the kid's vocal chords.

Cammie, however, surprises her. She's much stronger than she looks (certainly her father's daughter), and there's an interesting hardness in her eyes. She is still terrified of her, though, which is good. She should be.

Cammie tries hard not to shift nervously in her seat whenever Catherine enters the room. She tenses when Catherine leans forward to brush hair out of her face and behind her ear, and her breath catches when Catherine circles behind her, places a hand on her shoulder.

Catherine likes Cammie. Oh, she likes her very much. She wants to wrap her up in a little bow, like a tiny porcelain doll, and keep her in her pocket. Cammie, though she would never admit it, is very much like her, which pleases Catherine very, _very _much.

As the months drag on, it becomes more and more apparent that torturing Cammie to near-death is no longer practical. Sending in Dr. Sanders, her deep-cover, vaguely-perverted colleague, would be much more apropos.

Catherine presses a kiss to Cammie's forehead before they load her onto the helicopter, and the poor child is _shaking_.

With that, they wipe her memory and set her loose into the Austrian Alps.

* * *

Though others would argue otherwise, in Catherine's mind it was a very productive summer indeed.

* * *

Steve keeps her updated on Cammie's condition as the fall ticks by. The darling girl is obviously disturbed, half of her brain fighting against the other. Now, if _she _had her hands on Cammie, she could turn her into a ruthless killing machine, _just like her_.

Cammie could have been the daughter that would have made her proud, the sister that she longed for, _herself _in an alternate world.

But no - she will not let herself _idolize _a teenage girl who is simply a very important pawn in a larger chess game.

* * *

That fall, she spends a lot of her time in Ireland, in that old, rotting mansion.

She sits and waits for so long that the stones form around her, frost gathers in her hair and the wood warps around her, and she becomes part of the castle itself.

And when she receives word that Cammie Morgan and company are on their way, she is ready.

* * *

There is a certain ingenuity to Gallagher Girls that Catherine continues to underestimate. Yes, she could certainly take on Cammie in a fight for a small list inside of a rigged box, but she doesn't really expect a small, terrified looking blonde to blow away half of the mansion and try to kill her.

What an interesting surprise.

Now, Cammie really wants to kill her - she can see it in her eyes, and no doubt Cammie could do it, too, but she won't. While Cammie hates her, she also is intrigued by her.

But Catherine hurls herself off a cliff into the frigid North Atlantic after a little vial before Cammie can do anything.

No, she will not let herself be killed by Cameron Ann Morgan.

That would be much too cliche.

* * *

After she obtains the list of the Circle's descendants for herself (and lets Steve think he's running everything), the rest of her operation is now expendable.

So she kills them all, and though she has worked with them for years, she doesn't feel bad. Her mission now is very, very _personal_, and she does not need the support of others any longer.

She picks off descendants one by one, and she eventually runs into Cammie again in Cambridge.

She likes Cambridge (though for some strange reason it reminds her of Edward Townsend), and it's the best she's felt in a while, charging across that lovely lawn and making eye contact with darling Cammie, who looks positively murderous.

Yes, conveniently Cammie remembered that list she saw when she was eight. How appropriate.

* * *

She leaves fire in her wake, and lets a world war erupt around her. The bodies pile up until she is certain she could sit on a throne of skulls. It's surprisingly dull, however; wandering the world and sniping people down.

Perhaps it was time to combine her two main motivations - the ultimate example of killing two birds with one stone.

She hears rumors of her son's trek down the coast.

It's time to go home.

* * *

A storm is brewing in the sky as she takes a boat to the island. The wind is picking up, and she can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. By the time she gets ashore, the rain is coming down in sheets, lighting flashing on the horizon.

She hasn't been back to South Carolina in years, and it is a strange feeling, being back there of all places. The paint is chipping, and the wood of the porch folding in on itself.

There are cracks in the marble floor where she used to dance as a child, the piano in the corner that her mother insisted she know how to play, the upstairs landing where she pushed her father to his death. The air is too heavy in the old mansion, and it feels tainted when she breathes it in.

_I should have burned this place down long ago_, she thinks.

In the parlor, Zach, Cammie, and their friends are huddled around the ornate fireplace. They're bloodied and bruised, and they don't look like children - not anymore. They look jaded and worn, like they've seen too many things for one so young.

They look like _her_.

* * *

Cammie punches her in the face when she sees her.

As she blacks out, she can't help but feel a bit proud.

* * *

The things about truth serum is that while it does make you tell the truth, you can control what information you divulge.

She does tell them the truth, but a rather _selective _version. The knots tying her up are not as well done as they should be, but she doesn't bother slipping out of them. Her son is furious, and the girls are trying to hide their fear behind steely masks. Cammie, however, is the only one who approaches her - she knew there was a reason she liked that girl.

Abby and Townsend eventually show up, guns blazing and eyes fiery. She knew, of course, they were following her, so she's not particularly surprised that they showed up.

And for some reason, at that moment she lets slip that Townsend is Zach's father.

Oops.

(She still can't say if it was an accident or not).

* * *

She overhears them deciding to take her to Gallagher.

_Perfect_.

* * *

They lock her in a trunk for half of the ride to Virginia but god, do they not know she can get out of a locked trunk?

When they stop, she furiously kicks at the roof of the trunk until Edward opens it in a huff. The sunlight nearly blinds her at first, and she blinks tiredly as he leans down to speak to her.

"What the hell do you want?" He hisses, entire body tensed in anger.

"Are we at a rest stop? I have to go to the bathroom." She pouts.

"You can shit yourself." He seethes, and she rolls her eyes.

"Are you going to take me to the bathroom or not?"

He reluctantly yanks her out of trunk, and she stumbles briefly on her feet before stretching and taking in the run down gas station and the nearly deserted highway.

"What a scene this makes." She grins as he shoves her along, making sure to hold onto the handcuffs behind her back. "Don't worry, this is perfectly normal!" She calls to a very confused looking passerbyer before he practically throws her into the bathroom.

"You are legitimately the worst person I have ever met." He deadpans, yanking down her pants for her and forcibly sitting her on the toilet.

"Do I not get any privacy?" She blinks innocently, and he leans closer, looking straight into her eyes with a grin.

"Nope."

Now here she is, getting into a fucking stare contest with Edward Townsend in the bathroom of a truck stop in North Carolina.

"I can't go when people watch me." She finally admits.

"_Jesus fucking Christ_." He murmurs as he quickly turns away.

"Are you going to wash my hands for me, too?" She asks when she finishes, but instead he just pins her between the wall and the sink. "What an interesting turn of events."

"Why didn't you tell me about Zach?" He whispers against her ear, hands hard on her arms.

"You're bringing this up now?" She raises an eyebrow, but then his fingers dig harder into her arms enough to leave bruises. "I think you know exactly why I didn't tell you."

"I would have never let you _near_ him." He sneers, and she laughs dryly.

"Do you _really _think you would have made a good father to him?" She asks, and the look on his face says it all.

"Are you going to shove me in the trunk with everyone watching? Or will you let me actually sit in the van? I am a human being, you know - not luggage." She asks curiously as they walk about to the car (in reality, he's just kind of _marching _her but).

"_Just barely_." He whispers, but eventually decides to listen to her wise words and let her sit in the back seat.

"What on earth is _she _doing here?" Zach bites, looking up from his magazine.

"Your father and I thought it was time for our inaugural family road trip." She responds with a grin, and Zach groans.

"Don't speak." Townsend orders. "Or you'll have to be gagged."

"Oh, how erotic." Catherine laughs before leaning back in her seat in contentment. The silence is stifling, more oppressive than the humid air of her summers in South Carolina.

"Have you two been bonding?" She wonders innocently, and Townsend is so tense he practically slams on the breaks. "Just a question."

* * *

It's nice to be back at Gallagher. The long driveway, iron gates, and ivy covered walls instill some sort of nostalgia in her.

"Quite the adoring family aren't we, boys?" She comments as Zach and Edward take positions beside her to bring her inside, and Zach's overt uncomfortability makes her smile.

The swirling mahogany staircases and stained glass windows evoke a sentimental side in her that she forgot existed. She doesn't get to spend too long in her thoughts, however, because she is shuttled to one of the sub levels.

Which is perfectly fine by her. She's just where she wants to be.

In fact, her holding cell is much nicer than she thought it would be. And in an empty white cell, she hums to herself and lets her mind _ r_.

The tiny prison somehow reminds her of home, which is appropriate considering she's felt _jailed _her entire life.

(She half wonders if they'll torture her. It would make sense, for the whole thing to come full circle. _Would it be Rachel? No, she wasn't a killer like her. Neither was Abby. Edward would simply skip the torture and kill her outright. Perhaps it would be Joe._)

But they don't. Those pesky Gallagher girls and their allies view themselves above that. Instead, Rachel comes to speak to her often, safe behind a wall of bulletproof glass.

She's quite different than Catherine remembers, surprisingly strong considering the tragic death of her husband and the horrific torture of her daughter.

Rachel gets nothing from her. Really, there's no information to _get_.

And many days later, sirens are going off across town, she can hear gunshots and she wonders what the Circle has done now.

"We've killed the last descendant. Amirah is safe." Rachel informs her, arms crossed tightly over her chest when she visits her for the last time.

"Good." Catherine replies, sincerely for once in her life because finally the organization that had tried to control her was obliterated. _Only one thing left_.

"You're being transferred next week." Rachel says as her goodbye, and the gears in Catherine's mind begin to whirr.

* * *

As the hours crawl by, the shackles on her wrists and ankles dig so hard into her skin that soon blood is trickling onto her feet and hands. She bets her hair is a mess, and she can feel herself wasting away day by day.

* * *

Cammie eventually comes to visit her, wary and all grown up. She doesn't _scare _her anymore, and that makes Catherine a little melancholic.

By the time Cammie comes to visit Catherine is so lost in her mind that she doesn't even remember what she tells the girl.

Cammie, in the grand scheme of things, no longer matters.

* * *

Her last visitor is Joe.

He looks a hell of a lot better than when she last saw him, and she half heartedly wonders how _she _looks herself.

"You're going to marry her, aren't you?" She isn't quite sure why that is the first thing she says, but it's the only coherent thought she can form.

"How'd you know?" Joe asks, flopping down to the ground on the other side of the glass, and she shrugs, picturing the beautiful engagement ring that she observed on Rachel's left hand.

"I suppose this is where I offer my congratulations." The words sound hollow in her throat, and instead of making her upset, the fact just _defeats _her - it gives her a vague sense of melancholy, similar to the pang of temporary sadness you feel as you hear the news of a friend of a friend dying.

"I miss you, you know. I miss the person you were." He changes the subject, fingers brushing lightly on the glass.

"But that was never the person I _was. _You fell in love with the mask, not the monster underneath." She murmurs, lazily playing with the hem of her shirt.

"You're lying." He states with a sharp laugh. "You're damaged and psychotic, yes, and though you desperately try not to be, you're tragically _human_."

"How can you be so sure?" Her words hang heavy between them, and for once she wishes that there wasn't glass between them, so she could lounge across his lap and feel his fingers play with her hair.

"I'll try to visit you in Alaska." He says as he stands to leave. _Alaska. _So they were planning on shipping her off across the continent.

"No, you won't." She murmurs, but he's already too far gone.

* * *

She's being escorted down the hall that leads to the library, with six officers surrounding her, when she makes her move.

The kills aren't as _neat _as hers usually are, but she can't be bothered by the blood pooling on the floor and around her feet.

It feels strange to run again, unsteady on her feet, and when she catches a glimpse of herself in a nearby mirror, she barely recognizes herself.

(_Could she ever_?)

The lights flick off, the sirens blare as the school shuts down, but it's too late; she already has the bomb in her hands and is making her way down a secret passage to the antechamber in the center of the school.

When she was a student, she spent hours and hours in that empty room, breathing in the damp air and playing tricks with the shadows creeping across the walls.

She lights candle after candle, until the chamber looks more like a church than an empty storeroom.

Cammie and Zach find her there, humming to herself and lighting the candles, all the while letting the bomb tick away.

Cammie has the decency to try to stop her, and of all people, she thought perhaps _she _would see things her way. Though they are two sides of the same coin, they are different sides nevertheless.

She looks so strong, Cammie. How their roles have reversed, Catherine can't help but think. Who was the deranged little girl now?

Her son barely looks at her as they leave.

* * *

And in those moments as the bomb ticks away, she's never felt so calm and at peace. The clock counts down, numbers shining in her eyes and _she can't wait to fall off the precipice_.

She briefly thinks of _her asshole parents, laying the groundwork for her hatred; Edward Townsend, the most unexpected relationship; Zach, her only boy, so much stronger and better than she ever was; Joe, the one person she ever loved. _

Perhaps her death will simply be more of a symbol, a metaphorical tempest, but her existence was, of course, based on the rise and fall of empires.

* * *

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Ticktockticktockticktockticktock._

_B O O M._

* * *

And she _soars. _


End file.
